


the heart of the matter

by CkyKing



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bahamut is still a dick, Dishonored!AU, M/M, Noctis is basically Emily in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-10 02:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CkyKing/pseuds/CkyKing
Summary: Usurped, Noctis must fight his way through Eos to get both his father and his kingdom back from Ardyn's grip. However, sinister forces are at work, and help might be needed much more than he had first thought.





	1. the burden of duty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JazzRaft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/gifts).



> this was originally posted on [tumblr](http://ckyking.tumblr.com/post/158762297164/the-heart-of-the-matter-chapter-i) as a birthday present for [jasperraven](http://jasperraven.tumblr.com/). so, happy birthday~

I should have seen this coming, he thought. _I should have seen this coming_

If only he had paid more attention to his father’s reports, if he only he had tried to look further than the capital’s wellbeing. If if if. Now, it was too late for him to think of such things.

Peering down from the balcony he was perched on, Noctis closed his eyes for a second before jumping. He didn’t even grunt as he broke his fall using the guard’s back, slamming his head against the ground in the process. Looking into dazed eyes, he didn’t feel anything. Not hate. Not anger. Not betrayal. Just a gaping hole that threatened to swallow everything left inside of him. Without even pausing to hear what the soon to be dead man was trying to say, his father’s blade slid home in the crownsguard’s neck just as easily as it did training dummies.

He never thought he would one day be in this position once again : the Citadel drowning in blood, betrayers, his parents taken away. But if his kidnapping 15 years ago had taught him anything, it was perseverance. His mother’s supposed half-brother would have to do much more than this to stop him from getting his kingdom and his father back.

Even as he thought this, the Crystal _howled_ , begging him to _come back_ as it was forced to accept a new king in his stead. Maybe this was why everything was getting blurrier by the second, the ring on his finger growing hotter with every scream.

It had been his family’s duty for generations, the last relic left from the Age of Gods where humanity had been gifted powers in exchange for duty and worship. Every single vow binding these powers to lineages across Eos had been broken along the centuries, except for theirs.

With his throne taken, who would uphold them? Would Insomnia fall because of him?

Dragging himself away from the cooling body, he carefully moved down the corridor, blade held at the ready. Contrary to popular belief, the Citadel was not full of secret passages leading to and from different parts of Insomnia. The stately walls had been made with magic in mind, every line designed to channel power back to the Crystal and increase the city’s defenses. However, there was still one way out that he prayed would not be overrun yet.

Finally encountering one of the tapestry-covered alcove he had been aiming for, he slid inside like he had so many times before, gently pushing the material back into place. Moving soundlessly, he gently laid a hand on one of the runes cleverly hidden in the wall’s design, sending the last sparks of power he still had access to through his fingers.

In answer to his request, the lines started to glow with azure light, spreading from underneath his hand and heading to the rune clusters surrounding the activation glyph. Keenly aware of the time limit he was under, the usurped king quickly sent power to strategic points in the fortress, checking the Crownsguard’s positions by the resonance of their powers with his.

He only kept the connection open for the briefest moment, aware of Ardyn’s growing presence inside of the walls, progressively replacing his with a tainted, darker magic. Unfortunately for him, his careful withdrawal from the woven threads of magic was ruined when he abruptly felt the Crystal’s usual flow of power decrease. Somehow understanding what was about to happen, he desperately tried to get through to the Crystal, ripping through the loaned power of the Crownsguard surrounding the throne room. In spite of the strength he had stolen from his betrayers, his assault was batted away negligently, the rest of his powers stripped away from him in one painful go. Then, as if in its death throes, the source of the city’s barrier pulsed once, twice.   
  
Ring now a lifeless thing on his red-lit hand, Noctis couldn’t do anything as Insomnia went dark; as the Wall _shuddered_.

Connected to the Citadel, he was unable to shield himself from the onslaught of power, his battered mind thrown back unceremoniously into his body while uncontrolled lighting coursed through his hand. Reflexively biting his lips to keep himself silent, he curled tightly around his wounded hand; his father’s teachings were a steady anchor, _keep silent and keep moving no matter what_.

Now even more desperate than before, he stumbled through the halls, clutching his hand to his chest all the while. The other one was curled tightly around the hilt of his sword, fingers bleached white by the pressure. Only training allowed him to follow the path that he had set himself, avoiding the patrolling guards and strange creatures the imposter had brought with him.

Now, the only escape route left open to him was one of the many windows of the Citadel’s lower buildings. If he could get there, he could jump to the adjacent building’s roof and get down to street level.

He kept repeating his plan in his head, natural bullheadness at work to distract him from the pain. Still, the absence in the back of his mind echoed with loss, only strengthened by the Wall’s slow degradation.   
  
If only his father could see him now, going through the motions even as he ghosted in his home, hand blackened and crown lost. Despite his state, shimmying out the window and jumping down to street level was the easiest thing he had done since the beginning of this nightmare.

What betrayed him was how raw his lips had gotten, bleeding sluggishly from the many times he had had to stifle moans of agony. As much as he wished to avoid it, his other hand had to be used to help break his fall, cracking the skin even further.

A wounded noise escaped him before being trapped once more behind the barrier of his teeth. _You must not show pain, you must not show sadness, you must be strong for your people._

The mantra that his advisors had tried to pound into his head repeated itself again and again, the pain blotting out anything else. And so, he kneeled there, motionless on the roof, events playing back in his mind as he tried to muster enough strength to rise.

The decision was taken out of his hand when a metallic noise broke through his muddled mind, the scent of rot and blood accompanying it.

Looking down from his perch, he saw a parade of MTs walking down the streets, vastly different from the whispers Regis had gleaned from his informants. Knowing that he was in danger of being spotted, he tried to get down to a less visible position, but the sudden movement brought their attention to him, red glowing eyes looking up at the rooftops.

Light glinting from a blade was the only warning before a dagger embedded itself in one of the MTs’ eye, its hooded wielder dancing away in the direction opposite to Noctis; forcing them to follow him.


	2. the sea, dark and cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first meeting and an escape

Noctis breathed out shakily, aware of how close he had been to being caught. He didn’t know what reason pushed this stranger to attack the MTs, but he would not waste this opportunity.

The deliberate scuff of a boot stopped him in his tracks, head whipping around and sword coming to bear as he prepared himself to face another threat. His hand was a useless thing curled against his chest, pain progressively ebbing away. A corner of his mind took note of it, filing away the signs of nerve damage for a time where he would be able to consider the consequences.

Only the brief narrowing of his eyes betrayed his surprise when the intruder revealed itself to be the self-same stranger that had drawn away the MTs, crouched a few feet behind him on the concrete rooftop with hands held level with their head. The sign of non-aggression did nothing to lower the king’s guard, however. There were only two persons that he trusted completely : his father, encased in crystal and waiting for him, and himself. Until proven deserving of it, no one would be trusted. Not again.

“What do you want?” He whispered harshly, not forgetting the threat of discovery for one instant. He didn’t care who they were, or where they had come from. He just wanted them to go _away_ so he could make his escape.

“Is this the way to thank your savior, Your Highness?”

This close, he finally noticed the half-mask that hid his so-called savior’s face, the intricately woven metal threads doing nothing to hide the coldness of his blue eyes. And it was indeed _his._ This rough voice with an accent that brought to mind his father’s could only belong to a man.

“And what does my savior want for his help?” None of them mentioned that the simple fact of his presence on the roof was impossible. Noctis had seen him flee in the opposite direction, and the alleyway where he had escaped had not left his sight even once. He kept silent and readied himself, body tense in anticipation of a fight. Nothing good could come out of this.  
  
“Only the pleasure of your company, away from the city.” The stranger answered, grin audible in his voice, “After all, the streets aren’t safe at the moment.”

Seeing Noctis’ unimpressed face, he let out a sigh that made the material of his scarf flutter, eyes crinkling at the corners. The blatant attempt at manipulation, at least to the king’s eyes, left him unmoved, and it was with reluctance that the stranger (“You know him, my heart. We _know_ him.”) started working his left hand loose from his glove, movements slow and deliberate.

Only the clear attempt at appearing non-threatening stayed Noctis’ hand. Still, the strength with which he gripped the leather-covered hilt turned his knuckles white, the small gesture catching pale blue eyes before they flicked back up to meet the king’s. Undeterred, he continued prying the fingers off one at a time, leather sticking to his skin at every step, until he let the glove fall to the ground.

“This isㅡ“

The Astral’s mark was deep black against the tanned skin, two lines intertwining on the back of his hand in a parody of an eye before they spread out to each finger mimicking wings, or swords. He was intimately familiar with it, having traced those very lines again and again after his rescue, fascinated by how such a simple thing could have allowed his father to survive the coup.

“He gave me a message for you.” This time, he didn’t even try for a smile, eyes catching Noctis’ and holding them, “Never look back, little star, and stay true to yourself always.”

The cadence, the words, the _tone_. All of it was perfect, and it made a chill run down his spine. No one should know these words, uttered fifteen years before through a dying connection as the Crystal’s new caretaker assumed his position.

The stranger seemed to expect the heavy silence that followed his words, and settled on the balls of his feet to wait Noctis out, twitching his shoulders to relieve the strain of holding his hands up every now and then.

With great reluctance, Noctis dismissed his mother’s last words from his mind to focus on the meaning behind the message. Now, if nothing else, he knew that higher forces were at work, and were pushing him in a specific direction. Good or bad, only time would be able to tell. After all, the Astral was an enigmatic figure, seeking amusement from humanity and known to pick his chosens from the most interesting circumstances. He just didn’t know what it had in mind for him.

Regis had refused to talk about it, and had warned him against catching the deity’s eyes, afraid of the fate that would befall his son if he did.

It seemed that it had not been enough to spare him in the end. The Royal Protector’s history was too intertwined with his “benefactor” after Aulea’s death for them to be able to separate their family from the Astral now.

(“Left or right, there is no other decision. You must not give up now, my heart.”)

This was a turning point, one that would dictate the path he took from now on; he could feel it down to his very bones. And he doubted.

His decision was made when the stranger pushed his hood back, revealing dark hair woven in Galahdian braids, and confirming his suspicions. Noctis tensed when a silvery glint revealed itself in the Galahdian’s right hand, only to flinch when it sawed through one of the small twists behind his ear instead of being thrown at him.

Incredulousness trickled through Noctis at the gesture, incredulousness which only increased when the braid was thrown on the concrete between them as if in a peace offering, heavy magenta beads clicking against the ground.

“Nyx at Your service, Your Highness.” His eyes were heavy on Noctis, sure that the weight behind his actions would be understood loud and clear.

And oh, did Noctis understand it. To throw “allegiance” away and swear himself to him in that way… For this, he would at least follow Nyx, and hear him out.

The moment was broken when Nyx started swearing in a thick accent and drew closer to Noctis, just before metallic screams started ringing out around their location. The king didn’t even have to react before an arm was wrapped around his waist and a quick “Close your eyes and don’t let go.” was thrown out.

The world twisted around him.

It was worse than stasis, worse than losing his connection to the Crystal. His body was rebelling against itself, caught between what it wanted, and what it needed. He was never meant to absorb this kind of power, deep, dark and terrible, into himself, but he _hungered_ for something to fill the hole so brutally ripped open inside of him.

_It hurt_ , he wanted to scream. _Let go of me_.

Even through layers of clothes, Nyx’s arm burned around his waist. The deepest part of himself that had only known the Crystal’s gentle embrace was rearing up, attracted by the magic that caught around Nyx’s left hand and twisted around the Astral’s mark. It didn’t care for the blood, for the madness, for the sadness; it just wanted to be filled again.

His guide’s frantic calls did nothing to stop his mind from retreating into itself, so exhausted was he from the day’s events.

***  

On the boundary between dreams and reality, he thought of his father’s careful hands braiding his hair, face soft as he looked at him. All of the twists and weaves had been familiar : a father’s pride, safety and peace, may your grief lighten its hold and many more besides. For once, Noctis’ hair had not been another layer of armor against the court sharks, colorful galahdian beads hissing with dark intent against those who would harm him or subtle hairpins carved with Lucian runes enhancing his senses.

The King’s face had seemed oddly naked without them, features softened by the hairstyle Regis had chosen. His hair was gathered in a crown, incorporating the smaller twists that had been tied off with colorful threads (“Dark blue and bright gold, for your mother’s ancestors and mine” The Royal Protector had said as he carefully selected them) while the bigger braids had been left to hang down his back, blending with the rest of his hair and with the dark of his coat.

“For you,” He had admitted when they were done, “And for your mother.”

(“He weaves wishes of safety and peace in your hair, the only things he will never be able to promise you.” A voice had whispered in the back of Noctis’ mind then, faint but oh so very familiar)

_It seems like it happened so long ago,_ his own voice echoed back at him as the memory disappeared in fragments of light, only to be replaced with another one.

It was earlier this time, before he had learned the weight of duty and the pain of grief : His child hands tangling in his father’s hair, begging him to show him how to do the many braids he always sported in court. His warm chuckle and his strong arms around him. The faint scent of spices that clung to his clothes from nostalgic visits to the immigrant district.

And then, a last one, so bittersweet that something reacted from its cage of metal, awakened by the surge of longing that speared through him.

Long dark tresses that fell in a curtain around him, the winter roses he used to pick for her, a sharp voice that softened only when they were away from prying eyes.

“Soon, my love. _Soon._ ”

  
Those memories of better times, soft and shining in the darkness his life had been thrown into, followed him as he finally succumbed to exhaustion. Let the Void fill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Things will be getting _interesting_ in the next chapter~


End file.
